Hey, That's Cheating!

One of the things about the weekend, weekends in general I mean, is that you are typically home over longer periods of time than you normally are during the regular week. Meaning, you are much more apt to be at home when the occasional vagabond makes their way into your neighborhood and begins tapping at your front door.

Now when I was little and heard someone knocking at the door I would jump up and make a mad dash to see who it was going to be. The front door was a kind of random surprise and gift dispenser… with a doorknob. The knocking was the signal letting the entire house know that in what was previously an empty location now held the unknown.

It could have been mom with groceries… and cookies… YES! It could have been friends popping by to see if I could play. Maybe it was the pizza guy, or cousins with pizza, or maybe just the grandparents coming over to dinner. Hell, if the season was right I could have even been Santa. The possibilities were endless. Then again, there was always the chance that it was just some bloke wanting to talk to your dad. But you never knew for sure. All you had to do was twist the knob and see what was on the other side.

I’ve noticed something though, as I’ve gotten older a knock at the door, or ringing of the door bell, just doesn’t hold the same urgency it once did. Now days if I’m expecting company I either leave the front door open or I leave the front door unlocked and they know to just walk in. And if I’m not expecting company, let’s just say I no longer run to the front door to see who is there.

At the same time, it almost seems that people expect others to deal with a knocking door with the same fervor as a ringing cell phone. I’ve taken up to a minute to answer my door after an unexpected knock, and by the time I open the door, people are either back in their car and about to drive away, or are just not there. It’s as if they knocked, counted to 3 and assumed no one was home, so they leave. Unless of course it’s Halloween, then the little codgers will stay there and keep knocking for a good minute straight.

So, not to long ago, on a Saturday afternoon while I was home alone, there was a knock at the door. I even had pants on, so I was at the door in a reasonable amount of time. As I opened the door the first thing I noticed was a man in a suit. Now, living in Utah has resulted with me opening my door to a number of door to door salesmen, or women, that always travel in pairs. And I’m always willing to debate, hypothesize, philosophize, or banter about the finer points of selling gods and/or defining personal opinion and belief as universal truth.

Yeah, it always ends with people agreeing to disagree, and really does nothing to help evolve anyone opinions on the matter, but at least it’s entertaining, and the salespeople get a chance to get out of the weather and sit down for a while to talk and enjoy a beverage.

So you can imagine my initial joy at the prospect of one of these pointless entertaining conversations when I first opened the door. Turns out this chap had a lady standing next to him, which is nice because it automatically lets you know which Christian club house these people are from. Then, as I began to open my door to invite these people in, I noticed something that stopped me mid swing and made me swallow down the “Won’t you come in.” sentence I was about to say.

It was their kid, a little three or four year old boy standing next to their parents. I pointed at the kid, and almost said, “Hey! That’s cheating.” Instead I paused for a minute, and poorly covered up what I wanted to say with, “Oh, um, well done? I mean congratulations.” The Jehovah’s Witness parents looked at each other and then back at me and the husband offered a half confused thanks.

Damn, nothing but awkward small talk at this point. I was about to say something else, but that little person staring up at me kept throwing off my game. The husband took the lead during this lull in conversation and handed me a flyer, inviting me to an event their church was having next week.

I wanted to tell them to either save it or if they needed to pass all those out before going home they could just put them all in my recycling and go home early and enjoy their afternoon, but again, there was that little kid.

So as a public service announcement, to any door to door sellers, sharers, or preachers everywhere, please do not take your small children with you when you go door to door. It’s playing dirty is what it is. It greatly inhibits the conversation, and profanity professionals, such as myself, are left unable to practice their trade, well, to the full extent of their ability that is.

Have any of you experience this type of situation before? Did you go ahead and continue the conversation or did the little person with them trip you up too?

6 Comments

that adorable little slave was me at that age (and a girl in a frilly little dress)! JWs KNOW this is playing dirty–to them it is called “Theocratic Warfare”. But we “born-ins” have some stories! Like little Tommy C. who had to take a break to pee on the bush in the front yard or burst a bladder at the door! Or the precocious ones who tell the “householder” that if they don’t listen to Daddy and Mommy they will die at Armageddon and have their eyes and tongues picked out by birds and lay as uncovered “dung” on the ground—and then show them the charming picture of it in their Bible Stories Book! Oh sweet memories of ruined childhoods; of missing Saturday morning cartoons to dress up and wear shoes that pinched your feet while you trudged behind brain-washed magazine salesmen on a sweltering Summer morning! And don’t forget the dogs! Another set of stories for another time….

I left the JWs when I was about 13 but up to that point I was toted around like an accessory. I always hated it. I think deep down I knew it was wrong to bother people trying to peddle them a silly idea. At a certain age they started having me do the presentation as well. How nerve racking is that as a small child?! I would always hope that either nobody was home or they would ignore us, and always act disappointed when nobody came of course.
The really sad part though is what these cults rob from the children. I think of all the missed opportunities. There was so much I wanted to do but the cult came first. Such a waste!

Yup, one of those children, my favourite childhood ‘door to door’ memory? My mum getting caught up in conversation and me getting so bored standing to one side I picked a 50cm square clean of the nice ladys pebble dash wall. The horror on my mums face when she realised why I’d been such a good girl! Needless to say I’m not a witness any more. I just never fitted in!

Yep I was one of them when I was knee-high to a grasshopper. My most vivid memory was being out in service with my mom and she walked up to this lady’s house. Either all of her kids had a Friday night sleep-over, or she just had 9 kids. Anyways it was in Detroit and bitterly cold outside. I don’t know what transspired between this lady and my mom, but I do remember getting to take my coat off, watch Saturday morning cartoons and have a bowl of sweet junk cereal. I was in heaven! Best day of go’in out in service I ever remember.
Joyce

I was definitely the little kid. I loved it. Being so young and stooping people with the bible. People would just love to hear me speak and show the scriptures. They marveled at how passionate and intuitive I was. But once you hit a certain age the charm doesn’t have the same affect and just goes blah… Wish I was that 7 year old again with those old folks eating out of my hand.